The Blanket Scenario
by Angrybee
Summary: The life and times of a blanket in Meiji Era Japan. Follow our fabric friend through fabulous, fantastic, and frightening adventures with the characters of RK. (Rating may be raised for subsequent chapters.)
1. Chapter 1: Missing Blanket

DISCLAIMER: Rurouni Kenshin and all of its characters belong to Watsuki-sensei. This is a work of a fan, who claims no possession of RK, its plotlines, or character catch-phrases.  
  
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Chapter 1:   
  
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Since the dawn of fanfiction, the 'Blanket Scenario' has been popular. Two people. One cold night. One blanket to share. Ah, what strange and wonderful adventures a blanket might be able to divulge. Some funny, some tragic, some frightening. Stories of love and lust, of joy and sorrow. And tonight, gentle reader, if you will join us, we'll begin a peek into the lives and times of blankets. So, beware Meiji Era, beware Japan, beware hitokiris, ninjas, doctors, street fighters, and tanuki-girls, and Akebeko attendants. Beware friends and enemies, young and old.  
  
Beware.  
  
Your blanket witnesses all.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Kenshin?"  
  
"Yes, Kaoru-dono?"  
  
The once-feared hitokiri looked up from scrubbing the dojo floor. She hadn't asked him to do it, but it needed to be done anyway. He didn't mind. Too much dust or mud on the floor might cause someone to slip while practicing and hurt themselves. Then he'd blame himself forever for being too lazy to do the chore when Kaoru-dono did, after all, let him live here for free.  
  
Kaoru-dono looked lovely today, didn't she? Was that hair bow new? It was a pink one. Really set off the rosy blush of her cheeks nicely. Showed off the brightness in her eyes, it did.   
  
'Oro! Sessha is staring. Stop staring!' Kenshin looked back down at the floor, watching a blurry semi-reflection stare back with utter cluelessness.  
  
"Kenshin? Why are you cleaning the floor? That's Yahiko's chore. How is he going to learn discipline if you do his chores for him?"  
  
Kenshin shrugged sheepishly and replied, "Sessha hasn't seen Yahiko around since breakfast."  
  
Exhaling a deep sigh, Kaoru grumbled something about Yahiko skipping training and how he was such an irresponsible pupil. Kenshin was pretty sure that Kaoru would go on to include a violent description of how, exactly, she was going to bludgeon Yahiko senseless when he came home, so he interrupted. "Did you want something of me, Kaoru-dono?"  
  
Kaoru stopped mid-sentence, alarmed at how murderous she was sounding in front of Kenshin. "Oh. Oh...um..." Kaoru proceeded to smile in the hopes that Kenshin would forget that she was a dojo's mistress, and instead think of her as...well...as...  
  
Sigh. Deep, longing, does-he-even-notice-my-existence sigh.  
  
"Kenshin, I was trying to find all the things I promised to give Misao when she comes to visit next week, and I can't find that blanket she always admired. You know, the green one with the white flowers on it? Have you seen it while doing laundry?"  
  
Kenshin had to admit that, in fact, he had not seen that particular blanket today.   
  
"Hm. I wonder where it could have gotten to..." Kaoru murmured, tapping her finger on her lips.  
  
"Sessha will go look for it, Kaoru-dono. It has to be around the dojo somewhere. Unless it was stolen." A twinge of worry crept into Kenshin's head. Blanket bandits. After those Feng Shui guys, it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility. What despicable lowlife would steal one of Kaoru's favorite blankets?  
  
"Kenshin, um, don't you think they'd steal something more valuable? Like your sakabatou?"  
  
The sakabatou! Kenshin put his hand to his hip. Where was the sakabatou?  
  
"My..."  
  
Kaoru pressed her fingers to her temples. Sometimes Kenshin should be so stupid.   
  
"Kenshin, you took it off so you could clean the floor. See, it is leaning against the wall behind you."  
  
Ah. Kenshin turned and smiled. His trusty sakabatou. Good thing it was still here. He might need it to fend off blanket thieves. It was his duty to protect Kaoru-dono in any way possible,   
  
And besides, if all the blankets in the dojo disappeared, it would mean that Kaoru-dono would be chilly while she slept.  
  
She'd shiver.  
  
And he might...be tempted to...go and warm her...  
  
Such forbidden temptation. Kaoru-dono sighing and clinging to him to gain body heat... Flesh against burning flesh...  
  
Kenshin's eyes grew wide. What was he -thinking-? This was Kaoru-dono! Pure, innocent, wonderful Kaoru-dono! Kenshin jumped up and grabbed his sakabatou. He would never! He was unworthy!  
  
"Sessha will find your blanket, Kaoru-dono! Don't you worry!"  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"I really think...um...you're nice, Tsubame, and I...want you to..."  
  
Yahiko scowled and ground his toes into the dirt of the deserted alleyway. He'd been sitting on these steps for the past hour, going over and over what to say to Tsubame, and it -still- wasn't coming out right. She'd probably laugh at him. Well, not -laugh-, because Tsubame wasn't mean like that. No, she'd probably smile and say something like, 'Oh, that's so cute, Yahiko-chan, you're such a sweet -little- boy.'   
  
"Crap," Yahiko muttered. He lifted the green blanket sitting atop the picnic basket he'd brought, and fished around inside for a snack. Maybe a little food would help jump start the romantic thought process. He munched on a rice ball while he watched people pass by on the street connected to the alley. Lots of couples. They looked happy. Surely there must be a -right- way to go about such things.  
  
All he wanted to do, was to ask Tsubame to be his girlfriend.  
  
If only he had someone at the dojo he could talk with about this. But, Kenshin was obviously utterly -hopeless-, since he couldn't even tell Kaoru he liked her. Kaoru was too ugly to ask. And Sano...  
  
Geez, if he asked Sano... Well, Yahiko had no intention of getting slapped by Tsubame.  
  
"Alright, Yahiko. Let's try again," the miniature samurai said to himself. "Tsubame. I like you and you should, no I mean, you could be my girl. If you wanted. I mean, if you'd like to..."  
  
Argh!  
  
"Tsubame, be my girl, or else!"  
  
Grrr.  
  
"Tsubame, I like you more than my shinai, and you smell better than the dojo!"  
  
Damn. Damndamndamn!  
  
"Tsubame, please..."  
  
A shadow fell across Yahiko's face, causing his head to shoot up and his hand to fly to his back to grab his shinai. A bandit? A thug? The yakuza?  
  
No. Far, far, far worse.  
  
Saitou Hajime stood at the mouth of the alleyway, arms crossed, a cigarette between his fingers.  
  
Oh, Kami-sama. Oh, CRAP! Today was -definitely-, absolutely, without a doubt the worst day of Yahiko's life.  
  
"Yare, yare, the runt has a girl, does he?" Saitou said with a wicked smirk as he approached.  
  
Yahiko removed his hand from his shinai. Yeah. Like trying to attack Saitou would do any good. "Why are you here, you twisted old cop?"  
  
"I'm patrolling, moron." Leaning against the wall across from Yahiko, Saitou narrowed his eyes. "And it looks like I've found another loitering miscreant for my growing collection."  
  
Yahiko's gaze wandered towards the nearby street as he instinctively planned an escape route. He -was- going to become the most skilled swordsman ever, of course. But, Myojin Yahiko wasn't stupid. No one could be a swordsman from jail. And he -definitely- wouldn't get the chance to become strong if he got skewered by Saitou's Gatotsu.  
  
'Be calm,' Yahiko told himself, 'That's what Kenshin would do.'  
  
"I'm just sitting here."  
  
Saitou ashed his cigarette into the already dingy alley. "That would pretty much line up with the definition of 'loitering', wouldn't it?"  
  
"But, I'm not doing anything wrong!"  
  
The fingers of one gloved hand strummed against the thick fabric of Saitou's uniform sleeve. "You're about to do something -very- wrong, though."  
  
"Huh?" Yahiko didn't like the tone of Saitou's voice. What the hell was the crazy cop trying to get at?  
  
"Look runt, I'd hate to see any girl be put through the torture of what you're concocting. So, let me tell you what to do."  
  
Yahiko leaned forward, his jaw dropping slightly. Saitou Hajime was...he was going to...give him advice on women? Well, he -was- supposedly married, after all. Maybe Saitou knew something useful about those sorts of things. "Uh...um...er...."  
  
"Just tell her the truth."  
  
"But, I..." The truth? The TRUTH? Of course he'd tell Tsubame the truth. It wasn't like he was going to -lie- to her. But, the words just wouldn't come out right.  
  
Saitou turned towards the street and laid his hand on his katana. "And if you find you can't tell her the truth, just say 'You are the most beautiful creature I've ever laid eyes upon. Would you do me the utmost honor of being mine until the sun turns dark and the stars fade away?' That always works."  
  
"It...does?"  
  
"Of course it does, you ahou." Saitou looked over his shoulder with a wry smirk, "Tokio fell for it, and she's the most intelligent woman I know."  
  
Yahiko leaned back against the wall as Saitou disappeared into the marketplace beyond the alley.   
  
Saitou's wife fell for it.  
  
Well.  
  
Yeah.  
  
Knowing him, Saitou probably had his katana pointed at her throat while he said it.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Yahiko-chan, this is just so lovely," Tsubame said softly as she picked a fresh strawberry out of the picnic basket. "And you even thought to bring a blanket to sit on. It's pretty. Is it yours?"  
  
Yahiko watched as Tsubame caught the edge of the green blanket and rubbed it between her thumb and forefinger. Oh, to hold that cute little hand. Tsubame had such tiny fingers, soft fingers. Well, he imagined they would be soft, anyway.  
  
"No. Um, Bu...Kaoru lent it to me." Crap. He was already starting off with a lie. Well, that lie didn't matter, did it? Alright, maybe he -did- go into Kaoru's room and steal it. There were white lilies painted on the edges, and Tsubame had said that she really adored lilies. He wanted to buy some for her a couple of times, but lilies were pretty expensive. Especially when Sanosuke kept borrowing whatever money Yahiko made by helping out at the Akebeko.  
  
"The weather is so nice today, perfect. It was nice of Tae-san to give me the afternoon off."  
  
"Yeah," Yahiko agreed, "You work too hard, I think."  
  
"Oh, I...I don't mind the work." Tsubame smiled lightly as she nibbled at the strawberry. Yahiko looked away quickly, pretending to be interested in a nearby tree. Thinking about Tsubame's cute hands was one thing. But, thinking about her cute lips was downright ungentlemanly. "Anyway, ano...thank you for bringing me on your picnic, Yahiko."  
  
"Yeah." What to say? What to say? Just tell the truth, that's what Saitou Hajime had said. Yahiko closed his eyes. He was strong. A samurai, even. If he could help defeat Shishio and Enishi's henchmen, he could definitely do this. Right?  
  
RIGHT?  
  
Yahiko wiped his sweaty palms on his pants and turned to look at Tsubame. She was -so- cute. And the nicest girl he knew. Tsubame would never hit anyone or call them runt or try to steal the last beef pot. She was simply...kind and gentle.  
  
"Tsubame?"  
  
Stopping mid-nibble, Tsubame looked up from her strawberry with the most winsome and genial smile Yahiko had ever seen. "Yes?"  
  
"Will you..."  
  
She tilted her head to the side and waited for Yahiko to continue.  
  
"You're the most beautiful eyes my creature has ever laid upon."  
  
Tsubame blinked. And then she blinked again.  
  
"No! I mean..." Yahiko's fingernails pressed into the palm of his hand as his cheeks burned in embarrassment, "It would be my honor if you would fade away like the sun..."  
  
Tsubame tilted her head to the other side as beads of sweat appeared on Yahiko's forehead.  
  
'Damnit, Saitou Hajime. You...bastard...' Yahiko muttered internally. 'This just -isn't- working!'  
  
Suddenly, Yahiko felt something feather light touch his hand. He looked down to find Tsubame's fingers curling around his. Wow. She really -did- have soft skin, and so warm, too. He hadn't expected her touch to have any particular temperature, but it did!   
  
"Yahiko," Tsubame whispered, "You can tell me whatever you want. You are my boyfriend, after all."  
  
Yahiko's eyes grew wide. HE -WAS-? He was her boyfriend? Really? "I am?"  
  
"I..." Tsubame blushed and looked down at her lap, "I hope so."  
  
Wow. Elation flooded Yahiko's chest. He was her boyfriend. This was definitely, absolutely, and without a doubt the -best- day of Myojin Yahiko's life.  
  
"Tsubame?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"You're the kindest, gentlest, prettiest girl I know. I'd be honored to be your boyfriend."  
  
Right after he said it, Yahiko felt enormously relieved. That wasn't hard to say, at all. It was the truth. That's all you needed, really. Truth and the courage to say it.  
  
Damn.  
  
Saitou was right, after all.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Saitou Hajime slinked into the grove where, just a few minutes before, that runt and his girl had been having a picnic.   
  
Well, the runt's intentions were honorable after all. Too bad. Saitou was hoping for more blackmail material. Not that he'd let that scrawny kid take advantage of an innocent girl. But, he just -might- let it go far enough to have something to hold over Yahiko's head later.  
  
They'd run off, holding hands as they tromped through the flower infested fields. How...bucolic.   
  
What a waste of time.  
  
Then Saitou's gaze fell upon the item the pair had, in their obliviousness to anything but each other, left behind.  
  
A blanket?  
  
He bent down and inspected the soft fabric. "Hn. What's this?"  
  
The name "Kamiya Kaoru" embroidered in black stitches on the lining?  
  
Interesting.  
  
Maybe it wouldn't be time wasted, after all.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
I hope you'll tune in for the next chapter of Blanket Scenario! As the blanket passes into new hands, another adventure is uncovered.... 


	2. Chapter 2: Ravishing Wind

* * *

**Chapter Two: Ravishing Wind**

**

* * *

**  
  
There is a house in the middle of Taito street, a nondescript little  
house, with a garden sporting struggling vegetables, and a fish pond which  
continually seems to need about three more inches of water. Beyond the  
sturdy gate with the iron lock, two little boys sit off in a corner,  
making mischief with mud pies as an older boy looks leans against the  
fence, daydreaming.  
  
This house, on this street, is the house of a family. The mother is a  
woman of dignity and grace, the children are playful and full of dreams,  
and the father...  
  
The father is Saitou Hajime.

* * *

"Tokio!"  
  
A gentle smile crossed Saitou Tokio's lips before she even looked up from  
practicing her calligraphy. Silently, she set her brush astride the  
pages, smoothed her kimono, and stood. Her husband was standing at the  
shoji to their bedroom, appearing mildly cross. His severe eyebrows were  
knit at the center, creating deep lines which made him appear both stern  
and intimidating. No man with such a cutting edge to his gaze could be  
considered anything less than the virtuous commander of his allies, and  
the vitriolic executioner of his foes. His mouth had been set into a  
permanent sneer, cemented into place by years of disdain for most of the  
other inhabitants of the planet.  
  
'Ah. With a look like that, Hajime must be in a good mood for some  
reason.'  
  
Tokio tiptoed across the room and waited to be presented with her  
husband's hat, gloves, and outer shirt. If she had known he'd be home  
early, she'd have met him at the door.  
  
Come to think of it, why was he home early?  
  
As expected, her husband handed her the usual objects. But, in addition,  
he also placed into her arms a folded blanket.  
  
Tokio blinked and looked from the expanse of cloth to her husband and back  
again. "What's this?"  
  
"It's a blanket, woman. Surely you've encountered them before."  
  
Tokio put the other objects on a nearby shelf and stepped back to  
unfold the cloth. She considered it with a light touch, running her  
fingers over the edge stitching and tilting her head from right to left  
to get a better view.  
  
'That's right, Kitty,' Saitou mused, 'I know you. You can't resist  
inspecting another woman's handiwork. Is the stitching proper? Is she a  
better seamstress than you? Oh, you like to think your gentle little  
heart is devoid of envy, but I know different. How you hate to be  
outdone. I do so enjoy watching you struggle to hide how it burns you.'  
  
"I'll be in my office," Saitou stated as he turned on his heel and headed  
down the hallway, "I have some files to go over. I'm not to be  
disturbed for any reason."  
  
'That'll put her in a dilemma. An engaging war between her sensibilities  
and her heart. Which will win today, Tokio? Curiosity, jealousy or  
rationality? She's such a fascinating creature, such a diverting  
amusement from this world of rampant corruption and declining morals.'  
  
Saitou slipped into the office he had constructed with his own hands.  
When they'd built a room for the boys, he'd decided he'd never get a  
lick of quiet without his own room, one off-limits to the rest of the  
family. This room was necessary for his -sanity-.  
  
Which was not to say that he didn't love his children. Even his adopted  
son, Eiji. They were, all three, fine boys. Troublemakers, at times,  
certainly. But, what was the -point- of going through the effort of  
attempting to mold the world through the use of one's sword without  
rearing another generation to which that world would pass? If he were an  
old wolf, then they were his pack. And though beyond these walls he may  
gnash his teeth at evil, at home he had pups to rear and an exemplary  
mate of grace and warmth (even if she was at times, quite possibly,  
Japan's biggest prude).  
  
Ah. Tokio. He'd never wanted a wife. On the whole, as a youth, he'd  
considered women as nothing more than a distraction. They were pastimes  
of men who wished to escape the cruel realities of the world. Men who  
were too stupid to play shogi and too dull to appreciate good sake.  
Women were like animals in a menagerie. Fine creatures to gaze upon, but  
essentially useless otherwise.  
  
And then there was Tokio. How many years now? Five? No, certainly more.  
She didn't sweep in and change his life. She didn't fuss and shriek and  
shed tears at every little thing. No, Tokio was more like the ivy that  
grew on the side of the bathhouse. At first, unnoticeable. Little  
sprouts of green clinging to the wood, straining upwards, seeking more  
sun. Did the wooden wall even feel it? Did it even realize that slowly,  
day by day, it was becoming covered in curling green stalks and  
heart-shaped leaves?  
  
And then, one day, that entire wall was covered in greenery. It looked,  
it felt, as if the ivy had been there all along. A soft blanket of leaves  
had come to shield that barren wooden edifice from the summer heat.  
Without being asked, without a word demanding praise, without anyone's  
notice.  
  
Saitou smirked to himself as he rearranged his papers on the low table,  
picking out a few sheets from various files for study. He adored his  
wife, though he rarely showed it. She knew of his love, and with simple  
sincerity, she returned it. Other poetic embellishments on the situation  
weren't necessary.  
  
Though, he did enjoy making her wonder...just every now and then...to keep  
her on her toes.  
  
How long would it take her? An hour? No, far less. She'd become much  
more bold during their years together. When they were first married, it  
might have taken her days. She'd have agonized and debated internally,  
waited patiently until she believed it to be the precise correct moment,  
and then...she'd say exactly what he'd planned for her to say all along.  
The guile she tried so hard to hide behind calm and demure eyes would  
drive him mad with inner laughter and outwards lust.  
  
They were both people who hid behind masks. Tokio attempted to hide any  
rage, jealousy, cruelty, or annoyance beneath a veneer of patience and  
poise. And he...he hid any weakness in his heart for her under the  
unflinching warrior who ruled his existence.  
  
Their game was to see who would crack first.  
  
It wasn't long at all before Saitou sensed his wife's presence lingering  
towards the end of the hallway beyond his home office. What was she doing  
now? Ah. Gathering courage.  
  
Saitou glanced up at the shoji. 'Seven steps to the door, Tokio, can you  
walk them?'  
  
Nope. She turned around and left. Saitou picked up a drying page of  
script and placed it aside. She'd be back.  
  
Saitou didn't like to describe his wife as "timid", but he supposed it was  
an apt enough assessment. Usually, it worked out well enough. Usually.  
Of course, there were times when her non-confrontational ways evoked his  
ire. Then he'd have to reprimand her, for letting the vendors in  
the marketplace overcharge her again, for not being strict enough with the  
boys, for going to pieces when she'd accidentally ruined one of his  
uniform shirts (which she subsequently hid from him for two weeks).  
But, then again, all married couples had their struggles. And really,  
putting up with Tokio's inability to be frank and assertive was a small  
price to pay for having a woman who stuck by his side, no matter what.  
  
Minutes later, he felt her nearby once again. Like a tide pool of  
diffident indecision, Tokio seemed to be waiting, gathering her resolve  
raindrop by raindrop. Would this be the time? Yes. Saitou heard her pad  
down the hallway, the sound of tiny step dampened by the thick wood of the  
floor.  
  
Then she was at the door. Just standing on the other side, neither moving  
or breathing, as far as he could tell. Saitou supposed he should grant  
her reprieve by telling her to come in, thus ending her mental anguish.  
But, that would spoil the game of finding out exactly what she meant to  
do.  
  
"Hajime..." Tokio whispered finally, her voice as small as a mouse's,  
"I've brought tea."  
  
"Didn't I tell you that I'm not to be disturbed? Which part of that did  
you not understand, Tokio?"  
  
"Yes, I understood you, teishu."  
  
Would she be thwarted by that little? No, maybe a few years ago, but not  
now. Not with curiosity eating away at her soul.  
  
"But, I..." Saitou heard Tokio shift her weight behind the door, "I'll  
just put it inside for later and..."  
  
"Leave it there."  
  
The soft sound of Tokio kneeling was followed by gentle clinking as she  
rearranged the contents of the tray, worrying at it, fussing at it in  
order to prolong her stay. Saitou couldn't help but smirk, knowing that  
she must be truly ill at ease about the blanket in order to keep up such a  
ruse.  
  
"Hajime..." Tokio whispered again, after messing with the tea for far  
longer than necessary. This time, she even endeavored to go so far as  
to slide the shoji open a few inches. Half of his wife's face watched him  
from the hallway. Well, rather, it watched a space on the floor about  
six feet in front of him.  
  
Saitou did his best to put on his most irascible face, which wasn't hard  
to do, since it wasn't far from his normal visage. "Aa? What now?"  
  
"About this blanket..."  
  
Practically amazing. She brought it up on her own, without any prompting.  
Of all the incredible things. Next, she'd be walking around at night  
unaccompanied, and smoking a pipe. "What about it?"  
  
And then Tokio, a woman of immaculately-trained poise and ladylike  
refinement did something her husband had never seen. She squirmed. "Ah,  
you see..."  
  
She -really- wanted to ask. The curiosity was getting to her so badly  
that Tokio, his Tokio, was fidgeting, squeezing her hands in her lap,  
blinking repeatedly, causing a furious wrinkle to appear between her  
eyebrows from concentration.  
  
"Spit it out, Tokio. I don't have all damn day."  
  
Tokio winced in response, but seemed jolted into action by her husband's  
words. "That blanket, teishu, there's a woman's name on it."  
  
"Is that so?" Saitou tore his gaze away from his wife and pretended to  
return to writing. Now, he had only to ignore her, and she'd surely push  
the issue further.  
  
"Hajime," Tokio said after a good bit of internal struggle. Her husband  
felt his ear twitch. Her tone was so utterly dark, completely despondent.  
That wasn't supposed to happen. "Do you love me, anymore?"  
  
What the hell? Where did -that- come from?  
  
He didn't think she's overreact -this- much. Well, maybe he -had- been  
spending a bit more time than usual at the office. And keeping an eye on  
the Battousai and all his little miscreant friends had been forcing a bit  
of preoccupation on the old wolf. But, he never thought she'd get -this-  
upset over one little blanket.  
  
Still, there was no need to reward her for her ridiculous doubts. No,  
there would be no reason to spoil the woman. The game would continue. He  
just needed to change the plan a bit.  
  
"Come here."  
  
As instructed, Tokio stood up and entered the room, dragging that filthy  
blanket behind her like some sort of lost little child. Alright, the  
image was a bit endearing, but not enough to make him crack. Saitou's  
wife kneeled down beside his low desk, and proceeded to stare at her  
hands, and the corner of blanket within them.  
  
"Now tell me, Tokio," Saitou said, placing his paintbrush astride his  
paperwork, "What makes you think I ever loved you in the first place?"  
  
Tokio couldn't have looked more shocked if her husband had reeled back and  
slapped her. She opened and closed her mouth several times, once actually  
producing a strangled squeak. Saitou thought for sure she'd break down,  
that she'd finally give up this ruse and say what she was actually  
-thinking-. But, instead, Tokio only said, "Oh. I see."  
  
But she said it just a little -too- indignantly, just a smidgen too  
forcefully.  
  
He was definitely going to win, this time. That timid exterior was just  
itching to crack and reveal, at its core, what Saitou Hajime liked best.  
  
"Is this woman," Tokio asked quietly, her fingers digging into her kimono  
at her knees, bunching the material, "This Kamiya Kaoru to whom the  
blanket belongs...is she your illicit paramour?"  
  
Saitou had to -literally- bite the inside of his cheek to keep from  
breaking into a chuckle. Regrouping, he leaned towards his wife, catching  
her chin with his fingers, forcing her to look at his face. "Illicit  
paramour, Tokio? Now, let's not use sugary words. You're accusing me of  
cheating on you. Can't you even say as much? No, you can't. You're  
hardly even courageous enough to enter this room. So, go ahead, Tokio.  
Ask me. Ask me bravely, and I will tell you. Ask me if I am fucking  
someone besides you."  
  
And at that point, Saitou Tokio snapped.  
  
Her hand swung at her husband's face, rage shining in her eyes.  
  
But, Tokio's slap was interrupted, caught by a callused hand, and pressed  
forcibly to grinning lips.  
  
Saitou won, and he knew it. And now it was time to claim his prize. He  
pulled Tokio across the tatami by her wrist until she ended up with the  
back of her head against his chest. Tokio struggled as best she could,  
but it was of little use. There was no way she could physically overpower  
her husband unless he let her do so. And he, unlike the Battousai, wasn't  
the type of person to shrug off being struck by his woman.  
  
"Be still," he growled menacingly into her ear, "Or, you'll hurt  
yourself."  
  
As Tokio's body went limp with the realization that she wasn't  
getting anywhere by trying fruitlessly to beat her husband, her head  
rolled forward, casting escaped wisps of hair into her face. Darkly,  
her voice now devoid of the humility and softness she tried to hard to  
cultivate, Tokio replied, "You're a rogue. A terrible rogue. And I abhor  
you. I absolutely abhor you, Yamaguchi-san."  
  
She used his real name. She'd never, in his recollection, ever called him  
that. Tokio wasn't just jealous, she was pissed.  
  
"Curse at me, Tokio. I want to hear crude words spill from your lips. I  
want you to defile yourself with rage and envy."  
  
"I shan't..." Tokio whispered, her shoulders trembling. She had never  
expected her husband to be faithful, or at least she attempted to delude  
herself daily that she had no claim over his body, only over his heart.  
It had always been her belief, however, that he would at least be kind  
enough to keep such terrible truths from her. But, as she realized the  
extent of her jealousy, she found herself overwhelmed. "Keep your whore,"  
Tokio found herself hissing, "She can utter whatever filth makes you ache.  
Use her roughly, if that is what delights you. I shall have no more of  
this...this..."  
  
"Would you leave me, Tokio?" His words rang in her ears as they both  
became still.  
  
That was what he wanted to know.  
  
What would it take...for her loyalty to waver?  
  
Immediately, Tokio's grim frown turned into a blank expression. He'd made  
a miscalculation? Had the Wolf of Mibu actually made a mistake?  
Certainly, he couldn't have wanted her to know that he  
was...worried...that she might leave.  
  
Had...Tokio...won?  
  
"I would never leave you, Hajime. Not for this, not for anything. The  
shade of your shadow cools my face, the glint of sun upon your sword  
brings light to my eyes. Even if you face another woman, I shall trail  
behind you until your shadow becomes pitch...until the reflection from  
your blade blinds my crying eyes."  
  
She had always expressed herself with such flowery words, despite the fact  
that her husband tended to be much gruffer with his manner of speaking.  
But, at heart, they were the same.  
  
Wolves in sheep's clothing.  
  
"Are you...in love with her, Hajime?" Tokio asked, tilting her head  
against his chest to look up into his fiery eyes.  
  
Saitou snorted derisively, "Now you're just being -absurd-, Tokio. I  
already told you, I don't even love -you-."  
  
But, she could tell from his wicked smirk that he didn't mean a word of  
it.

* * *

Beneath gathering storm clouds, the midday breeze floated through the  
Fujita yard, catching at the hems of Tokio's light kimono as she put the  
wash out to dry. She hadn't even stopped to put her hair back up after  
her husband had pulled out all the pins, so it -too- swayed in the wind,  
caressing the still rather flustered face of Saitou Tokio.  
  
That had been...-quite- a romp.  
  
And now, things were back as they should be in the Fujita household.  
Tokio returned to her chores, and Hajime returned to his endless and  
rather grueling pile of paperwork. Tokio made a habit of checking to see  
how many cigarettes he'd smoked during any length of time in his office,  
just to find out how agitated he might be on any given evening. But she  
knew that there were always -far- fewer after any particularly vigorous  
session of lovemaking.  
  
A woman must do her best for the man she loves...so that the man she loves  
can do his best for the country of Japan. This was the ideal that Saitou  
Tokio kept close to her heart through years of war and peace, through  
smiles and tears. This was why...they were perfect together.  
  
Tokio raised the blanket on the pole to drape it over the clothesline.  
He'd finally revealed to her exactly -how- he had procured it, long after  
she'd come to be coated in a sheen of sweat and nestled in his arms. The  
story of young love brought a small smile to Tokio's face, despite the  
fact that the way -Hajime- told it contained a profuse amount of indignant  
cursing and the continued repetition of the word "ahou".  
  
Still, he'd wanted her to hear the story. She knew not if he wished for a  
moment that he could have given her tenderness and innocence that Yahiko  
and Tsubame had captured, or if he had just wanted to make her laugh.  
Either way, she would hold the memory close until her dying days.  
  
The breeze whipped at the blanket as Tokio left the yard to return inside  
to make dinner. But, she stopped for a moment and couldn't help but  
smile. The sound of the wind tossing the fabric this way and that,  
pummeling it and letting it go, throwing it into exalted heights and then  
releasing it to float downwards again...  
  
Only Tokio knew the meaning...  
  
That, truly...the blustery air of the gathering storm...  
  
Delighted in ravishing a simple blanket.

* * *

Mishima Eiji took only the things he would need for his journey. Some  
onigiri that Auntie Tokio had left out in the kitchen, the sturdy bokken  
that Fujita-san had given him on the day he turned 13, and the 6 mon he'd  
earned by chopping firewood all autumn for the elderly lady living next  
door.  
  
What more did a -warrior- need?  
  
Well, there -was- his brother's sword. But, Eiji figured he could leave  
that in the hands of the Fujitas until he was ready to return. Return and  
claim it -triumphantly-...  
  
After he'd made a name for himself in the world at large.  
  
But, what else did a boy...no...a man need for his journeys? Eiji  
searched around the yard, half-moping, half-excited. Now was his time to  
make his way into the world. Fujita-san and Auntie Tokio had cared for  
him long enough, and he wanted no more than to be able to find a way to  
repay them.  
  
But, he certainly couldn't do it by chopping firewood.  
  
Eiji came to a stop in front of the clothesline and looked up at the  
blanket flapping in the wind.  
  
A blanket. Sure! A man could make a tent out of a blanket, in a pinch,  
or wrap his things up with it.  
  
Eiji reached up and grabbed the corner of the blanket to tug it off the  
line.  
  
Now.  
  
Now he was ready...  
  
For his journey into the world.

* * *

In Our Next Chapter: Mishima Eiji makes his way into the world, only  
to be caught in a terrible storm. Who will save him...but a very kindred  
spirit...Sagara Sanosuke. As the two share stories...Eiji gets his first  
taste of sake.  
  
Thanks to everyone for reading this story! I hope to see you again  
soon!


End file.
